Operation: N.O.T.I.C.E.-M.E. (Chapter 5)
The Turn of Numbuh 19th Century A week passed and the boy regained his former physique – no longer was he pallor or underfed thanks to the kids of Sector V, but he often hid his true colors until he was alone. He understood that he was different from them, being from a far outdated generation, and so he felt uncomfortable bonding with them. He bunked with Numbuh 4 (ironically) on the opposite side of the stretch of wood flooring that he called his room, but he was assured by Numbuh 1 that this was only temporary – they promised to clear out a different room for him to have later. The boys almost never got along, so he was lucky that the Aussie was often playing video games or somewhere else in the tree house. When he was alone, he sometimes cried. “If only I could find my old cul-de-sac and home,” he sighed with his hand on his cheek. Sitting cross-legged and holding an old picture in his other hand, he reveled in the few memories he had of his mother and father. The picture was folded twice, faded, and colorless, but the faces were clearly visible; with great fervor, he wished to know their names. It could bring him a step closer to remembering his own. Out of nowhere he began to think about Numbuh 652 and how she had promised to aid him in his quest for self-discovery, so he stood up and put the picture back in his vest pocket by his heart. Then he walked to the side of the floor space and slid down the branch of the tree that grew through the corner. He entered the main control room and proceeded towards Numbuh 1 who seemed to be talking to the supreme leader on the large transmission screen. “Is that him?” Numbuh 362 asked him, spotting him as he came into view of the camera. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He glanced at his companion and nodded. “Do you have any place where he can stay besides here?” She thought for a minute and told him, “We may find a safe place for him here on the moon base or we could send him to another sector willing to take him as their kid.” Before Numbuh 1 could voice his opinion on the matter, ex-Numbuh 19th Century cut in with a suspicious eye focused on her. “What has this world come to letting a girl ''become the supreme leader of the Kids Next Door?” Neither of the other two had a response for him – Numbuh 1 ended transmissions abruptly while the boy turned around and wandered off in a frustrated state. '. . .' In the meantime, Numbuhs 652 and 593 were on a walk through the neighborhood talking about a multitude of topics. The majority of then either pertained to the boy they’d saved or led back to it in some way, and while he respected his best friend and listened to her prattling on about him, he was loathing him the longer she spoke. Eventually he could get a word in again. “Nora, can I ask you something?” he began. She nodded, so he continued, “Did you and Numbuh 19th Century almost…kiss?” When he saw her face, she was a fair pink across her cheeks. “Umm…ah, he sure knows how to charm the ladies, I guess,” she replied. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he reminded her lightly. Sensing that he was concerned, she put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye: “We didn’t go that far and I don’t like him like that. He’s cute n’ all, but ''still.” She giggled softly. “Besides, I know what happened between him and Numbuh 86.” They smiled at each other as Numbuh 593 coaxed her hand into his and rounded a street corner en route back to the tree house. Deep down, he could hear his heart sing as the weight of anxiety lifted off his chest, but he mentioned nothing. . . . Far into the night, everyone slept soundly - all except for the former KND kid. He was asleep, but in the middle of a nightmare and unable to wake himself from it. After quite some time spent tossing, turning, and occasionally shouting, he woke up Numbuh 4. The Aussie boy went to his roommate and smacked him with his pillow, startling him awake. “Zip it, Chatty Cathy! Fo’ cryin’ out loud, I can’t sleep if you’re yappin’ away!” he shouted. Ex-Numbuh 19th Century whimpered and scooted farther into the corner of the ring, fearing the short boy for his lack of equanimity. With that, Numbuh 4 returned to his corner and soon fell back asleep while he hugged his knees to his chest. He wanted to talk about his nightmare with someone, but not with him – he wouldn’t be any help. Half an hour later he was still awake, so he decided to leave the tree house, figuring that a simple walk around the block would clear his buzzing mind. He slid down the large tree branch, snuck past Numbuh 3’s room, and reached the balcony facing the street. Spotting the rope ladder from before, he tossed it over the side and climbed down; the chilled grass sent shivers down his spine. “Hopefully they won’t fret over my sparse absence,” he told himself as he made his way to the sidewalk – he put his hands behind his back, holding his wrist. He knew not of the time nor where he intended to go, but it didn’t bother him, and he thanked the lamp posts for illuminating his path as the evening breeze sustained a ideal temperature. Little did he know he was being followed. . . . I can finally see/ That you’re right here beside me Numbuh 652 couldn’t sleep, so she’d started playing her Owl City songs and stayed up to write. She was no Shakespeare, but she intended to send a letter to ex-Numbuh 19th Century that would convince him to stay with her sector. Though she refused to admit anything, she knew that she’d grown fond of him after their second encounter and furthermore there was a spare room by hers that could be made up for him. I am not my own/ For I have been made new/ Please don’t let me go/ I desperately need you Through the melody, she swayed into a half-state of subconscious writing and sublime state of mind. “Meteor Shower” had always affected her substantially, bringing out an inner soporific aura that normally was kept hidden by her jittery nervousness or ecstatic cheer maintained by her youth. Her song changed halfway through her task to another hit: “Fireflies”. You would not believe your eyes/ If ten million fireflies/ Lit up the world as I fell asleep/ ‘Cause they fill the open air and leave teardrops everywhere / You’d think me rude, but I would just stand and stare Within minutes she finished her letter and rolled up the paper, sliding it into the empty soda bottle on her desk. Then she removed herself from her seat, letting out a gasp when she found Numbuh 666 standing in the shadowy doorway. He had his hands in his hoodie pockets, one foot over the other, and leaning on the wall with a gentle smile. I’d like to make myself believe/ That planet Earth turns slowly/ It’s hard to say I’d rather stay awake/ When I’m asleep/ ‘Cause everything is never as it seems (when I fall asleep) “Hey, James,” she greeted him, feather-ruffled for another minute. He straightened up and pushed his bangs to the side. I got misty eyes as they said farewell/ But I’ll know where several are/ If my dreams get real bizarre,/ ‘Cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar “What’re you doing up so late?” he asked, glancing at the clock on her desk, “It’s two in the morning.” Before she answered he saw the message in the bottle and added, “Who’s this going to?” Not too surprising, she blushed and ducked her head, tapping the side of the glass. “Sector V,” she said. Her CD played another song in the background: Hello Seattle, I am a mountaineer/ In the hills and highlands/ I fall asleep in hospital parking lots and awake/ In your mouth “Let me guess – Numbuh 19th Century?” he continued from his first question. Her cheeks turned a darker pink and looked up at him when he chuckled: “It’s an easy guess since you’ve talked about him all week, Wilkins.” “I’m really that talkative?” she asked in a surprised tone. He nodded, taking the soda bottle from her. I will disguise myself as a sleeping pill/ And descend inside o’ you “I’ll get this delivered to him for you,” he offered. She blinked and agreed with him, so he bid her goodnight and left for the main control where the mail chute was located. When he was gone, she slipped into her pajamas and readied herself for bed; through every movement, she visualized her English-accented companion. Hello Seattle I am an albatross/ On the docks and moor boats/ I sail above your inlets and interstates/ Through the rain and oil wind She turned off her CD player before getting directly in bed – it was there that she realized how much Numbuh 666 was right about her because, as frightening and respectable his abilities were, he knew her feelings before she did. As she drifted away, the remainder of the last song auto played in her head. Take me above your light/ Carry me through the night/ Hold me secure in flight/ Sing me to sleep tonight . . . “Oh dear, someone pulled the ladder back up,” he noted with a sigh, “How am I expected to re-enter without it?” A shadow loomed over him, so he glanced over his shoulder: there stood Father in ominous silhouette, alone with him standing on the sidewalk. “So we meet again,” he stated. His yellow eyes narrowed as he reached for the red bow on his chest, but the child let out a high-pitched scream and ran in the opposite direction as fast as he could only to be trapped in a ring of fire. He whimpered with wide eyes, horrified as Father casually approached; he brushed through the flames like the air through wind chimes and grabbed his neck. Lifting him off his feet, the villainous silhouette saw eye-to-eye with him. “Thanks to you I lost my children’s most elaborate birthday cake, my great grandmother’s legendary cake recipe, and my Children’s Prison’s reputation was mutilated!” he shouted. He nonchalantly began to tighten his grip on the boy’s neck until he was writhing for air. “Those are heavy losses for me, and for what it’s worth, I’ll kill you!” “No, please! I’ll do anything you want!” the ex-operative begged, “I don’t even remember doing any of those things -” he started to choke, his lungs ached terribly. “I’m only ten!” He battled his lightheadedness and found himself nearing the verge of passing out, but suddenly Father gave him a reprieve enough to inhale. “You’ll do anything?” he asked with a tone of suspicion; he lowered his victim to shoulder level and received a stiff nod. “Very well then, I can strike a bargain.” “Oh thank you, sir, thank you,” the child whispered. His holder lowered him and pointed as he held him barely above the ground. “I want you to lead Numbuh 1 and his team into an ambush,” he stated in a low voice, “go to the beach with them and sabotage their weapons while they’re busy playing so they can’t fight. My delightful children will capture them with the gift I gave them for their birthday – you’ll find out what it is when they bring it out – but I’ll let you go free.” He held out his hand, “Do we have a deal?” The boy was speechless at the request. He wanted naught to face a horrible death at such a young age, nor did he was to be remembered for his perfidy to his new friends. His hands were tied, so to speak, and therefore he had no choice other than to accept the terms of the agreement. He sighed. Then, lowering his head with his eyes closed and reached out to shake Father’s hand. “Good,” said the man as he set him down, “and do not fail me.” Author's Note After a long hiatus from the fandom, I came back and realized that I had not finished posting up this story, so here is the long-awaited update to Operation: N.O.T.I.C.E.-M.E. In it, we see a change in plans in regards to Numbuh 19th Century's allegiance, which will plant the seeds of hatred yet to come. Chapter 6 is here while Chapter 4 is back here. Category:Numbuh 404 Files Category:Fanfictions